


Excession.

by hennethgalad



Category: Silmarillion.
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 00:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10752780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: for the 'A Woman's Sceptre' challenge on Silmarillion Writers Guild.Celeborn falls under the shadow and is drawn back to the light by Galadriel.





	Excession.

'We realize the importance of light when we see darkness.'

Excession.

 Despite the grey of the sky the clearing was bright with spring flowers, primrose, campion and tall yellow daisies. Celeborn smiled to himself, Galadriel was singing softly, 'Lovely Glorfindel'. He wondered if she had ever heard the rather cruder version that he himself had heard first, then felt sure that she had. He realized that she had noticed his smile  
 'I am pleased to hear you sing again, dear one, though I shall never forgive Glorfindel for being so lovely that you still sing of him.'  
 Galadriel smiled 'Forgive me, but the closer we draw to the Inn, the more my thoughts dwell on my brother. For in such... uncertain times I cannot foresee when I shall next meet with Finrod, and this may be our last meeting for...' her voice tailed off, a gust of wind, laden with a scatter of rain, swirled around the clearing, sweeping away the remains of their luncheon, overturning the rug they had dined on, blowing napkins into the trees and covering their eyes with their own hair. There was a hasty scramble to collect themselves, and as they gathered laughing in the middle, Beleg suddenly yelped, then his breath hissed between his teeth. They looked in astonishment at his arm, where a black-fletched arrow still quivered.   
  In the frozen moment, as the blood began to well onto his sleeve, they heard a snarl, a howl and the hiss of a blade through the air. An orc's head dropped, bleeding, onto the path under a tree.   
 Beleg cried 'Ambush!' as they darted for cover, reaching for blade and bow. Celeborn followed Galadriel, who had already drawn her bow, and slid his sword from his sheath. The elves of Beleg's scouts had swiftly vanished, there was no sign of the orcs save for the bleeding head, the dead eyes still full of terror, the hideous face set in a final grimace of horror. Celeborn felt his skin itching from the nearness of the orcs, he looked a question at Galadriel; these Noldor, these creatures of the Light, had an awareness that he still strived to fully experience.  
 She leaned close and whispered 'There are yet twelve of them, one is above our heads, do you climb in pursuit of him ?'   
 Celeborn sheathed his sword and put his hands to the trunk of the tree; as he climbed, the bow of Galadriel sang its single note and from a nearby tree an orc fell silently, dead from the arrow in his throat. With a scream, the other orcs leaped to the ground and charged towards Galadriel. Celeborn looked anxiously up into the tree, he could just see an armoured boot wrapped around a high branch, but beside him the rabid orcs approached. Galadriel fired again, and as Celeborn hesitated, more arrows sprang silently from the faceless forest, and six more orcs fell. Time seemed to wheel slowly past Celeborn, he drew his sword and turned to face the orcs, crying 'Shoot the one above !' to Galadriel. She grinned coldly at him, her eyes narrowed in concentration; he found there was time, in the slow motion world, to notice her shining beauty, focused now into a diamond-tipped spear of deadly intent.

 She looked up, bending her bow, and Celeborn sprang past her, swinging the great sword, and hewing two orc necks with the first stroke and its backswing. In the next long instant, the last orcs were felled, arrows protruded from their heads like garlands of death. The tree above their heads trembled, its leaves rustling jerkily, as the final orc fell tumbling through the branches.  
 It landed face up at Celeborn's feet. To his disgust he realized that it was still alive, though the arrow of Galadriel had pierced its chest. He raised his sword to deal the final blow, but the orc's eyes had focused on him, and its harsh voice croaked his name.   
 'Celeborn! You live! I never hoped... I had despaired, forgive me!'   
 Beleg, injured though he was, was already at the side of Celeborn 'You must slay it, my lord, at once. The darkness spreads swiftly.'  
 But Celeborn's heart was wrung with pity and grief, the fallen orc had once been an elf, someone who knew him, perhaps even someone he knew himself. He shook his head and turned to Galadriel   
 ''My lady, will you take Beleg and another with you straight to the Inn, while I and these others make certain that we have left none alive.'  
 Galadriel frowned at Celeborn 'My lord, Beleg has the right of it, slay this creature at once, do not speak with it, the darkness indeed spreads swiftly.' 

 Celeborn bowed his head in silence, but Galadriel knew he would not listen. She nodded, and led Beleg hurriedly away, wondering if even for the wisest of elves, experience could be the only teacher. She sighed, she would be faced with whatever damage the orc could inflict on her husband, just as she was deepest in grief at the long parting from her brother, her favourite member of the whole sprawling family. Celeborn was so young and so sheltered, he had insisted on joining the escort party to protect her, but she could not bring herself to tell him that his presence merely increased the weight on her shoulders. She sighed, one dying orc could offer little threat. Beside her, Beleg looked anxiously at her  
 'My lady, Finrod will send his elves out to escort your husband to the Inn, do not fear.'  
She smiled at Beleg, 'It is not his life, nor his person, for which I feel concern, it is his spirit. He will speak with the orc, he will be poisoned by rage and grief, and his utter helplessness in the face of the power of the Enemy will darken his heart. He will be blighted, and I shall never again see the innocence of his joy. '  
 Beleg, who had privately worshipped Galadriel since the first moment he saw her, sought words to reassure her. He himself found that it was partly because of the darkness that she had been through that he loved her so much; her sympathy with the pain of others was real, born of genuine understanding, and her smile, when it came, was the richer and sweeter to him because he understood a little of what it cost her. But in his arm the arrowhead shifted, the pain scattered his thoughts and he clenched his teeth to silence the sound of his suffering.

 Celeborn, with one of the scouts guarding his back, stooped over the bleeding orc, while the other scouts scattered to hunt for survivors, or further attackers. In the quiet of the clearing, birds hesitantly resumed their song. The orc had only one eye, the other had been burned away with the brand of another, symbolic eye. But the one eye was grey, the patches of hair on the scarred, burned scalp were dark, and what could be seen of the bones of its face showed the grim ghost of former beauty.   
  'Who are you ? What is your name ?' Celeborn asked it, sword still in hand. The orc's distorted face moved awkwardly, Celeborn realized that it was frowning  
 'I am called... ' it's voice was harsh, it's Sindar strange and antiquated, Celeborn suddenly knew that it had been centuries since this thing had last spoken to an elf. 'I am called Redclaws.'  
 It coughed, and clutched at the arrow, then its eye looked up at Celeborn 'But I came from Doriath once, though I forget... I had a name, another name... You were there, we studied the movement of the stars... there were dark-lanterns all of silver...'   
 Celeborn looked at the orc in horror, he remembered the lessons, there had generally been a score of the younger ones, and a variety of teachers explaining different aspects of the motion of the stars. But the ruined face of the orc conveyed nothing to him, he had no notion whether it would be someone he could recognize even if the unsullied elf it had once been had stood before him.  
  But the orc lay at his feet, in agony. He knew that he should slay it to ease its suffering, but a part of him still desperately hoped to save it, somehow; it was intolerable to him that those who fell into the hands of the Enemy could not be redeemed, even if they were rescued. He thought of Maedhros, who had lost his right hand to the Enemy, yet Fingon had rescued him and now he fought on, his sword in his left hand. Celeborn looked intently at the orc  
 'I would save you yet.' he said.  
 The orc's face twisted into a smile. The elf at his back hissed angrily 'Slay it! Slay it now!'  
 Celeborn shook his head fiercely 'He remembers me! How can I slay him?'   
 'Then stand aside, and I shall do what must be done.'  
 'No, I would speak with him further, we should save him!'  
 'This is not Maedhros, this is an orc! Look at it! It may have some memories left of the time before it was taken, but the elf is gone. This creature has submitted to the Enemy, it wears the brand of one of his foulest servants, it has borne arms against us, it has shot Beleg, it has tried to slay you, and the lady Galadriel. Even if it were still of elvish form, it would be an enemy. You must slay it. Even laying those reasons aside, to prolong its suffering in this way is cruel.'

 The orc snorted, a trickle of blood ran down from the scarred flaps of its nostrils  
 'I live with pain.' it croaked 'The freedom of death draws nigh, the hand of my master is withdrawn from me.' it looked sadly up at Celeborn 'Your friend sees more clearly than you. The elf I once was is long gone. This... I have done unspeakable things, worse than the worst of the scars you see upon me now. ' it coughed again. Despite himself, the scout listened with grim fascination. Celeborn spoke again  
 'Is there anything more of your life in Doriath that you can recall ? There will doubtless be family members who would delight to have word from you.'   
 The scout and the orc cried 'No!' at the same time 'No...' said the orc softly 'Even should I succeed in remembering my former name, I would not have them learn the true horrors of my fate. Let them continue to believe that I have perished.'  
 'But your family, who are they? Who are you?'

 The orc laughed 'I am called Redclaws...' it croaked, but its chest heaved as if it would retch, and from its mouth a great gout of blood welled forth. Celeborn looked swiftly into the grey eye, but it had set still; the agony of the orc was ended.

 The sound of hard-ridden horses approached, Finrod himself, at the head of a troop of light cavalry. Celeborn cleaned and sheathed his sword, and took a long drink from his flask as the riders approached, seeming to fill the clearing with their Light, enriching the colours of leaf and branch, grass and flower, as though sunlight itself lacked some vital element that only the elves of Valinor yet carried. He wondered again what the Silmarils must be like, and felt a hint of the disappointment and fury which drove the fanatical Fëanorians.   
   
Finrod leaped down from his horse and embraced Celeborn with a laugh   
 'My sister sent me to rescue you, and though I knew that you would not need my help, I was eager to see you again!' he paused and gestured around him, his troop had mostly vanished into the trees to hunt for traces of the orcs; 'and my people wanted to investigate this ambush, for which I must apologise. The Enemy grows bolder and more cunning, these are the first orcs we have discovered within Brithiach, we must give thought to reinforcements.' he sighed and looked at Celeborn, who smiled happily back at him. It had been many long years since last they had met, Finrod was changed, his face was thinner, the skin seemed moulded tightly over the bones, and the shadows of sleepless nights darkened his eyelids and the hollows of his smooth cheeks. There was an intense stillness to him, as one who waits in ambush for his deadly foe. But he smiled warmly at Celeborn and looked around the clearing, the scouts were seeking orcs; they were alone.

  'I would speak with you privately, Celeborn, news has reached me of the love between yourself and Thranduil, and that you also were separated by our manipulative kin. I...' he paused and sighed 'I would share my grief with one who can understand it, I know of no other who could truly sympathise with me.'  
 Celeborn felt a cold breath of fear, Finrod had had hundreds of years to heal his grief at the separation from Glorfindel, yet he appeared to be enduring a suffering greater even than that of Celeborn, whose wound was still fresh from the recent departure of Thranduil. He looked fearfully at Finrod 'Do you tell me that the pain grows worse ?'  
 Finrod trembled slightly, his eyes filled with tears 'The love has not changed, the memories have not changed, the pain has not changed. Only I am changed. I feel hollowed as a reed, I feel the wind blow through my bones, I feel the howling silence of the void around me, and when I sleep for a brief time, I awaken screaming in the darkness, for he is lost to me, lost beyond all hope of returning.'  
 Celeborn winced from the pain of pity, he placed a hand on the shoulder of Finrod and smiled warmly into his eyes 'Galadriel and I are here now, we shall do our best to ease your suffering.'  
 Finrod's patient smile stabbed his heart, the despair had taken hold, but Celeborn could see that he was grateful for their presence and their love.   
 'Come' said Finrod 'You shall dine with us at the Two Shields, and later we shall drink together until we are singing with tears in our eyes.'

  
Finrod himself had built the Inn of the Two Shields, they hung above the wide open doors, side by side, both bearing the harp and arrows of Finrod, for both belonged to soldiers of his who had married, and now ran the Inn at the ford of Brithiach, the last safe crossing point of Sirion.  
 That the Inn also served as the field headquarters for the scouts of Finrod's northern division was a poorly kept secret, but it had been known only among elves until recent times, since scouts of the Enemy had begun to increase in number and brazen defiance. Dwarves used the ford, and the Inn, but paid little heed to the elves, who remained distant from the small grim strangers. There were settlements of Mortals nearby, but these were stout allies of Finrod, who was openly considering making over the Forest of Brithiach to them, pointing out to all listeners that they would slaughter orcs without hesitation, and be a bulwark against the Enemy, for all knew that Sirion was the weak point in the siege wall.   
 The Inn itself was a great stone mansion, its walls covered in climbing roses, which formed a living porch over the doors. What little of the grey stone of the building there was that was still visible between the profuse roses was speckled with yellowy-grey lichens, for the Two Shields had stood at the ford for hundreds of years; it looked a part of the land, as if it had grown there, it made Celeborn feel young, and look again at Finrod, who had been hundreds of years older than him when there had been nothing by the ford but grass and trees.

 There was a large fireplace in the vast entrance hall, with seats set into it, against the walls on either side of the small log fire. Galadriel rose to greet them, as the innkeeper hurried forwards bearing a tray of goblets. They took the wine and Galadriel spoke.  
 'I have removed the arrow and tended the wound. We could discern no poison, but he will be closely watched tonight. His scouts are with him, I shall return myself presently, but I trust that he will rest tonight, and swiftly recover.'   
 Finrod shook his head 'Please accept my apology, I am responsible for safeguarding these lands, the fault is mine.'   
 But Galadriel took his hand in both of hers and looked in his eyes 'Never blame yourself for the deeds of the Enemy. It was not by your order, nor will, that the arrow struck Beleg. As to whether you could have prevented it, you must not think so. He whom we do not name was once one of the Valar, his powers may be diminished but still they are beyond our imagining. You know why Celeborn and I are here, to bid you farewell before we flee, yes, flee into the east, in search of a home beyond his reach, if such a place exists. Melian advised this, and she herself, as you well know, is a maia, and foresees great darkness and doom ahead. You cannot assign guilt to yourself for the existence of a foe you cannot defeat.' she smiled with grim humour 'It would be presumptuous, my brother, you are only an elf!'  
 Finrod pressed her hands with a warm smile, and drank deeply. Celeborn tasted his wine, it was the favourite of Finrod, from Arvernien in the mild, sunny south, light and sweet, but melting away into the mouth, leaving a hint of summer fruits behind. Celeborn found himself smiling for the first time, the thought of spending the evening drinking this perfect vintage lifted his heart after the horror of the ambush. 

 The innkeeper led them through into an elegant dining room, there was a rug of Noldor blue on the marble floor, and a famous painting of Finwë hung on the wall above the fireplace, which was filled with a broad vase of deep-blue iris. Across the room, doors and windows stood wide open onto the terrace overlooking the river. The landlord and his people covered the table with lavish dishes, and left them in peace.  
  Celeborn was content to listen as Finrod and Galadriel eagerly exchanged news, but as they began to discuss people he had never met, and places he would never see, he found his mind drifting away. He watched the scattering clouds turn gold and pink as the sun set, and listened to the birdsong. The wine, the marvellous wine of Arvernien, loosened his muscles, he stretched his legs out under the table and leaned back in his chair, glancing at Finrod as he laughed at one of Galadriel's tales, and gazing out at the sky, watching the pastel blue of the sky turn slowly to a deeper violet, and darken into Noldor blue, as the first stars appeared. From time to time the memory of the dying orc troubled his heart, but he pushed it from his thoughts; they had been attacked, they had slain their attackers, merely another skirmish in the long war.  But still, the image floated, not in his eyes, but in his mind, unconsidered, lurking, casting a growing shadow.  
   
Galadriel rose finally and kissed Finrod on the forehead   
  'I must see to Beleg, do not trouble yourself with him, he will be pleased to see you in the morning when he has had some time to recover.' she smiled at them both 'I know it is useless to say this, but try not to sit here drinking all night...'   
 They stood to bid her a sound sleep, then Finrod turned and looked out at the fading light 'Let us walk by the river, Celeborn, we shall take our wine with us, and savour the evening air.'

 Outside, beyond the candles and lanterns, the evening seemed brighter, the trees still green, the river below them rippling like small tense muscles under smooth skin. Sirion was narrower below the ford, cutting deeply into overhanging banks as it moved under the trees of Brithiach.  
 They strolled in silence for a while, watching the late insects hover and dart in the still air above the river, listening to the fading of the birdsong, until finally Finrod said quietly   
  'Now that you are here, I feel as though I had already told you everything, that you already knew and understood.' he looked at Celeborn, who shook his head sadly.  
 'My lord, sire, I am young and ignorant. All of my short life has been spent in Doriath, where few visitors arrive, and fewer still leave. If you would open your heart to me, I can offer you nothing but sympathy.'  
 Finrod sipped his wine and smiled 'It is more than I hoped for, and more than anyone else will give. Since they considered our relationship destructive, they feel that I should be grateful to them, and move on, and marry, like you.'

 Celeborn laughed for a while, then sighed and looked at Finrod  
 'I have not moved on, sire, I fear that it was only the word of Melian, assuring us that we should be reunited here in Middle-earth, that enabled us to part. I love my lady Galadriel, but alas, I am not in love with her, nor she with me. It is our fortune to be close friends and even lovers, but this is not the choice of my heart. How can I complain, and to you, her brother. You should slay me for such words, yet I perceive that you understand me.'  
 'We are close kin, Celeborn, you need not say "sire", you should use my name, especially if we are to confide in each other.'  
 'Thankyou Finrod. But I must also remind you that Thranduil and I, although we were friends for our whole lives, only had a month together as lovers, whereas you and Glorfindel were together for twice as long as I have even been alive. I am aware of the great gulf of time between us.'  
 'The sapling resembles the tree' said Finrod, taking a deep breath as one who is burdened, who yet takes on a new task.   
 'I have had no such promise.' he continued, 'We did not part willingly. I shall never marry, for I could bear the touch of no other hands but his. Galadriel has been urging me again to marry. She tried to tell me of your friend Ivras, but her meaning was unclear to me. Is he some kind of teacher ?'  
 Celeborn blushed, but the wine had freed his mind 'Ivras was at Cuiviénen.' he said 'He has been the lover of Beleg, of Daeron the bard...' he paused and looked curiously at Finrod's lovely face, wondering how he would react to the knowledge that his sister's husband had a lover. 'He is now my valet, and my lover.'   
 Finrod gaped at him for a moment, then looked wistful 'Cuiviénen... such strange tales are told. Are we to believe in these tales ?'  
  Celeborn thought of the strangeness of Ivras   
 'Yes. I suspect that many are true. Ivras is strange, even Melian found him strange. But it is very difficult to speak of him, I do not know why. Beleg may tell you more... ' his voice faltered. He could see the curiosity in Finrod's eyes, and felt an urgent need to turn their thoughts to other matters.  
 'But tell me how it came to be that we all believed that you needed to be saved from Glorfindel?'  
 Finrod put a hand over his eyes and pulled it slowly down over his face, drawing in a deep breath as he did so. Celeborn drank some wine and thought that he had never seen anyone who looked so completely exhausted. The tale of Miriel Serinde, the first wife of Finwë, the grandfather of Finrod and Galadriel, came to his mind. She was said to have poured all her spirit into the begetting of her child, and had withered and perished after bearing him. It seemed to Celeborn that Finrod had given all of himself to Glorfindel, and his spirit was thus diminished.

 As Finrod told his story to Celeborn, the night darkened around them, the windows of the Inn glowed with light, and the sound of a flute quietly filled the silence. Celeborn listened to all the talk of chains and possession, but his mind, still under the shadow, kept seeing the dying orc, who had known him, and the words of Finrod seemed to be describing the treatment of the orc.  
  But instead of loathing and horror, Finrod's words, his very voice, were filled with a joyous love that Celeborn could feel even through the mists of his confusion, and the blunting wine. The sense of foreboding began to sicken Celeborn, he knew that something was badly wrong, either within himself, or with the world; his stomach clenched spasmodically, the ruined face of the orc began to superimpose itself upon the gaunt beauty of Finrod.   
 Celeborn blinked, his mouth was dry, his skin tightened with fear, he felt lost, dissociate, the Inn seemed to be in flames, the night air full of the screams of the pursued and the ugly noise of orc blades at slaughter. He reeled back, retching, Finrod siezed his arm and helped him to a bench, but Celeborn shook off Finrod's comforting hand, dropped his goblet and bowed his head, gripping his hair in both hands. Finrod moved away slightly and looked at him in alarm. Celeborn glanced up, but the face of the orc had fixed itself in his mind, it seemed the only real thing; the pleasant garden of the Inn, the quiet trees, the river, all seemed mere veils, rent to tattered rags by the intolerable power of the Enemy, through which the darkness of the real world could now be plainly seen; the world of suffering and pain, the world of the orc.  
 He threw his head back and screamed, his body went rigid, he began to jerk and twitch, his scream distorted by the spasms of his muscles. Finrod put both his arms around Celeborn, who began to thrash, as people hurried out of the Inn to help. Finrod got a hand free, held it over the mouth of Celeborn and cried 'Galadriel ' in a voice pitched for the battlefield. Scouts poured out into the garden, among them Galadriel herself, who hurried to Finrod's side.

 'Celeborn.' said Galadriel in a firm, steady voice. Celeborn's thrashing diminished, Galadriel laid a hand on his forehead and sang softly. Around her, the elves were still and silent; as the voice of Galadriel grew and strengthened, the Light within her brightened, and she sang to her husband, whose body became still, and whose scream turned to sobbing as his eyes blinked open and looked up at the anxious faces around him.   
 The landlord's partner stepped forward with a silver flagon and poured some miruvor. Galadriel took it and held it to the lips of the weeping Celeborn, who drank it all down. He shuddered, then gripped the bench with his hands and looked up at Galadriel 

  'I fear that I have had a vision, a vision of what lies ahead, of this place, in the time to come.' There was a hiss of indrawn breath from the elves around them, but Celeborn said no more. What could he say that they could not themselves foresee; more orcs, too many to defeat, torment, the slaughter of the scouts and the destruction of the Inn.  
  The peaceful rustling of the Forest and the constant melody of the river made the wild fury of Celeborn's reaction seem bizarre and embarrassing, but the elves were silent; beyond the little pool of friendly light from the Inn, the forest and the world grew darker, the menace of the Enemy was already among them, Beleg had been wounded within Brithiach, for their watch of the borders had finally failed.   
 Galadriel sat by Celeborn and took his hand in hers, it trembled, and she gently stroked the back of it. After a time Celeborn felt able to look at her, but he could not speak, or even smile. She nodded, and continued to stroke his hand; in silence, the elves drifted back into the Inn.   
    
When they were alone again, Finrod cautiously moved forwards and sat down on the other side of Celeborn, but remained still and silent. Galadriel gave Celeborn another drink of the miruvor, and then drank some herself. Finally she leaned across Celeborn and passed the goblet to Finrod. Her movement, or the miruvor, seemed to have broken the spell upon Celeborn, he shuddered and sighed heavily, then finally spoke  
 'Thankyou, my dearest, I cannot believe what you have just done... I had had no conception of your power, please forgive my ignorance. For only moments ago I...' he stopped and frowned 'the world had changed... everything looked the same, but there was horror everywhere, and the void...' he looked desperately into her serene grey eyes, she leaned forwards and kissed his cheek  
 'My poor Celeborn, you were under the shadow, surely you know that it is difficult to see in the dark, that the world is without colour, and that many things are hidden, as is much of the beauty of middle-earth ?'  
 Celeborn nodded slowly, but still frowned 'But I also saw the future, though it seemed... it seemed separate, for the feeling, my feeling of horror, was of a different nature to the... to the shadow...' his voice tailed off into a harsh whisper. They were silent.

 Galadriel looked at Finrod, she herself had had no visions, there were few who had, but Finrod had been brought such a vision by Ulmo himself. Finrod nodded, and turned to Celeborn   
 'I too have seen visions of the future, inspiring me to build Nargothrond and...' he looked sideways at them 'Ulmo sent such a vision to me by Gelion, though I have spoken to no one of this. He showed me Glorfindel laughing in a garden, and the garden was set in a fair city, and the fair city was in a fertile valley, where a ring of mountains encircled it, cutting it off from the world. Then the vision changed, and I saw myself by a fire in a forest, playing my harp and singing. Around the fire were strange creatures, Mortals, as we now know, and the vision ended.  
  I realized that Ulmo himself was trying to tell me that there would be no finding Glorfindel, that my path must take a different direction to his, and for the first time I accepted that my search was ended.' he paused and bowed his head, his shoulders sagged and he sighed.  
   Then Finrod, seeming to burn his own flesh to fuel his will, lifted his head and spoke again 'I realized also that though I had failed in my quest to find him, I could still do something of note, accomplish some worthy deed, and that the finding of the hairy creatures, however odd they appeared, was just such a task.' He sighed and looked away, Celeborn turned to Galadriel, her eyes were grave and sorrowful. He remembered that she too loved Glorfindel, though without hope, and he wondered what she thought of the city surrounded by mountains. But Finrod continued sadly   
 'Still, however worthy I may feel, the grief in my heart does not diminish with the passing of time. May the Valar smile on you both, and bring you the child of your hearts, but I see nothing here but darkness. It may be that my excessive grief distorts my mind and alters my perception, for I know that you all believe that I love him excessively. Perhaps I did, perhaps some of my spirit has been granted to him... There is no denying that I am weaker than I was before I met him, though in my vision he himself was as beautiful and vibrant as ever. Perhaps...  
  Perhaps one day we shall be told the answers to these riddles.'

 Behind them, Beleg's cheerful voice caused them to turn swiftly, smiling at him.  
  'Enough of this morbid orc-talk, sitting in the dark ! Come into the light, drink some wine with me, and you' he said to Finrod 'must eat more, you are excessively thin, you do not look strong enough to play the harp, much less draw the bowstring. I hope you have not been telling horror stories to young Celeborn, I believe I heard him scream. '  
 Celeborn smiled and stood up, beside him the children of Finarfin also rose. Beleg, his injured arm bandaged and in a sling, grinned at him.  
 'Come along and take some wine with me, youngster, do not let these grim foreigners frighten you, although the thought of marrying one of these mysterious Noldor would be enough to frighten any Sindar.'

  
    
 


End file.
